For
decades, I have grudgingly endured the callous ridicule that you and your
friends – read women – have unashamedly directed at me and my friends – read men; that we, the male broods of Adam with distended Adam’s apple, are all the
same! Apart from this, your sisters have bluntly intimated that my Blue-band generation of men today make Mitumba husbands and Mkokoteni fathers – a far cry from the caliber of men your fathers used to be!
Daughter
of some people, you should know that unlike those other men who hear with one ear as
it comes out the other, I have heard you. I also agree that these second-rate
excuses of long'lilo men are all the same. That is why while one lousy blue-band husband is busy guzzling his
family fortunes away at the local Mama Pima
joint in tots, another one is literally drowning in the stench of sweat at his Juakali shop under the jua kali to feed the mouths of his Whittabix kids. That’s how alike we are!
You
see, in refusing to be like your fathers before, those other men are just vichwa maji for nothing! For being like
your father is easy. All I have to do is copy-paste the totalitarian ways of my
father, who – because all men are the same - must be like your father! In this
regard, these commandments – as was in my father’s kingdom - shall come into full
effect starting today.
Reserved
seat
As
the head of the house, my father had a special seat specifically reserved for
him in the house. This was an out-of-bounds chair for even my mother, let alone
the children. So from here on-wards, the sofa directly facing the TV will be
exclusively mine. Under no circumstance should any of your children pass next
to this seat, let alone touch its edges. Doing so will earn any daring
miscreant something much worse than Nancy Baraza’s pinch on the nose. These imps
should know people in advance! There is no need of waiting for Baraza to publicly humiliate them by pinching their noses later in adulthood when they can know people now!
My
TV is off limits
Apart
from my sofa, from today hence forth, my screen will also be off limits to the
little rascals. Especially that mischievous son of yours who thinks he can rule
the house in my absence. I’ve not noticed how he tries to lose the remote
control so that we do not change his favorite cartoon channel! If my father
had no TV (not even the legendary Great-wall) and it was still off limits to us,
how about me who has a state-of-the-art gadget for a screen! From today,
absolutely no one is to switch my TV on until I return from my drinking sprees
at midnight. Should they ask of you, in my absence, to let them watch their favorite cartoon, tell them that daddy carried the electricity to work so you
cannot switch the TV on.
The
King must eat first
During
meal times, I must always be the first to serve! Should food be ready before my
return, the juiciest and fleshiest part must be reserved for me. The days of
serving these scallywags first when all they do is eat, sleep and poop are long gone! I must always eat
first. Whether I’m jobless or just too lazy to contribute to the buying of the
food is a non-issue! Even the lion always eats to his fill first before letting
the lionesses and their cubs have a go at the carcass. His not participating in
the hunt is inconsequential. The lion and I need a constant supply of energy;
the lion to protect its territory and I to scramble under the bed when thieves
come knocking at night!
And
like my mother and grandmother before, you must also not eat certain parts of
an animal. The Maini for example! If
you have to learn to develop or feign an allergy to Maini and chicken, so be it! Speaking of chicken, I don’t see why
the little rascals should partake in the chomping down of the fleshy parts of kuku. Children nowadays are born with
their molars all in place. So they can comfortably chew and gnaw at the bones
and chicken legs. When I feel philanthropic enough, I might let them sample the
wings sometimes. Otherwise they have the chicken intestines to roast and enjoy.
That’s what we lived on back in the day.
Children
eat on the floor
Still
on the matter of food, the children must not sit or share the same dining table
with me. Due to their messy nature, the best eating place for them is on the
floor where they are free to bathe in as much soup as they can. They should
consider themselves lucky. It is a tiled floor, yawa! Ours was earthen and harbored all manner of insects that bit
and stung our naked butts. The only time they can approach the table is when
they are bringing back their empty bowls on the table. And not for second
helpings though. Utamu wa chakula sio
kushiba! An overfed child is a candidate of several trips to the poop hole,
which will in turn increase the water bill. This Uchumi
of ours is bad. And please, let me not hear you tell me to go to Ukwala or Tuskys if Uchumi is mbaya!
They
need to fear me
From
the young-lings, respect is not very paramount. The Bible commands wives – not children
- to respect their husbands. What the young-lings need to have is fear. Fear what
I stand for! Fear in capital letters! Raw fear in bold! Which is why on your
way from work today, I need you to get me a proper cane. You can ask the makanga to shukisha you along the bushy highways where you can easily obtain a
supple cane. The Bata slippers thing
does not inflict enough pain to instill fear. If anything, it only hastens the
wear and tear on the darn slippers – something the Bata people would love to see happen often.
Their
fear of me needs to run so deep that whenever I return from my Miraa chewing rendezvous with the boys,
they will immediately scatter like rats into the kitchen to be with you. This
way, you can teach them how to cook. And then we can get rid of the house-help.
You know we pay her quite a load of cash. 1,500 a month is a lot money
considering that all she does is watch Afro
cinema continues shortly all day and gulp down the baby’s porridge when no one
is watching!
The
true hallmark of fear however, will be the day they start coming to you first
to tell me that they need something from me. Never should they ask for anything
from me directly. They must come through you! Between betting in Sportpesa (that I never seem to win), shooting
pool with wakina nanii, drowning my financial sorrows in liquor at the bar and
cavorting with Njoki the MWK (Mpango wa
Kawaida), my brain gets so crammed that I hardly remember to shower. How then
can I remember to buy a new pencil to replace the ones the kids literally chew
to the last bit as if hawakulangi?
Dressing
for special occasions
That
each of those children has a huge suitcase full of designer clothing and jewellery
is a travesty! What are all those for? As far as I’m concerned, nice clothes
are for special occasions. And we only have two of those in a year; Christmas
and the New Year! Don’t you think two nice clothes are enough for the two
occasions? For the remaining days of the year, one over-sized and worm out
T-shirt will make do. No need for shorts or pants and shoes. They can go to
school barefoot. Ni nini wakonayo sina?
I went to school barefoot but I still managed to father them! Most of the time, we played around the village
butt-naked and nothing happened to us. Kwani
what do they have to hide now that we didn’t have then?
And
what’s this I keep hearing about ‘Mummy
nataka keki ya’ birthday? I can’t even remember my own birthday. How then
am I expected to not only remember someone else’s date of birth but also
sponsor it? Next time I hear that nonsense, I will clap somebody’s child from
here to Sunday and back! If its the face painting they want, then they should wait for the rainy season. There will be lots of mud to splash all over their skinny bodies if they so want - and free of charge at that!
Children
are to be seen
With lots of love from your reformed Mkokoteni husband.
